


Into The Unknown

by ticktockclockwork



Series: The Lost Boys of 221B [1]
Category: Peter Pan - J. M. Barrie, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-11
Updated: 2013-03-11
Packaged: 2017-12-04 22:30:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/715819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ticktockclockwork/pseuds/ticktockclockwork





	Into The Unknown

Never once had John Hamish Watson expected his life to be such a boring rerun of everyday activities as it seemed to be right now. He was just past sixteen, smarter than others three years ahead, and absolutely bored. He kept himself busy with school, with rugby and football, with his quietly deteriorating family, but none of that held his attention for long enough. He still went to his room after supper and he still sat at his window and he still dreamed of bigger and better things.

Now, John Watson had no delusions about where his life was heading. He would be going to medical school, perhaps to be a doctor, though more likely to be an army medic. It was the more exciting alternative to a career in medicine. He’d considered ER but he didn’t think he’d care for day after day of pregnant mothers in early labor, swarms of people with this years’ strain of the flu, and the idiot child who had broken their arm playing rough. While the people coming in would be different every day, it still wouldn’t be exciting enough for him. 

Though, at the fair and fine age of sixteen, he wondered why he was worrying about his future so seriously at all. Couldn’t he just have common girlfriend problems like the rest of his mates? Sighing heavily, he let out a melodramatic grunt of annoyance and pushed open his window, needing some fresh air. He stuck his head out and peered past the rusting iron of the fire escape to the street below. It wasn’t terribly busy this time of night and the cars driving by clearly had intended destinations as there was absolutely nothing lazy about their approach. They came and they went and then the block was quiet once again.

Nothing ever happened to him.

He was slightly disappointed.

Pulling his head out from the window, he shuffled to his bed, kicking stray articles of clothing aside grumpily before dropping face forward against his sheets. He was feeling sullen and like he needed to wallow in some serious self-pity for a while when a black wash flashed across his wall. He thought for a moment that it must be scattered shadows from a passing car’s headlights as it turned on his road, but the shape was too defined, and it piqued his interest. It shouldn’t have; it should have terrified him, an unidentified shadow ghosting around his room. But John was never one to know when he _should_ be properly scared and instead danced headfirst into dangers with gumption and gusto not often found in kids his age. 

Most people just called it stupidity. He liked to think of it as courage.

Whatever it was called, it was making him sit up and look closer as the grey, semi-transparent form streaked across his wall. It was most definitely a shadow, tall and gangly, with stretched and odd-angled limbs that looked to go on for miles even without the help of the casting light. It was standing atop his desk, flicking at the Union Jack flag he had hanging in the corner, though regardless of its ministrations, it couldn’t get the flag to move. John would have found it funny if it weren’t so absurd. 

The shadow grew frustrated when he couldn’t move the fabric and stomped his foot. John, shocked at all that he was sitting there gawking while a sentient and disembodied shadow was growing impatient with its inaptitude to Swayze the Union Jack, finally spoke up. “Oi! Stop that!” He was mildly concerned that he was arguing with the shadow rather than seeking psychological help but it was late and what office would still be open, right?

The shadow ducked and turned to look at him (though how he knew, he couldn’t tell given that there were no distinguishing features save for its soft outline), ducking his shaggy head as if surprised. John was struck, yet again, with the absurdity of the situation, but all he could wonder was why the shadow should be so surprised as it had chosen to come into his room. He should be more surprised than the shadow and yet it looked as if he’d just walked in on something he shouldn’t.

Bending at the knees the shadow looked ready to spring, and just as John stepped forward to stop it, it did just that, leaping into the air and flying across his walls. It bent at the corners where his wall met his ceiling and streaked across the stained and spackled stucco, behind his slowly drifting ceiling fan, before diving through the broken slats of his closet door. John blinked in surprise and stood dumb-struck, debating whether now was a good time to run down the stairs screaming. Monsters always came out of your closet; children were raised knowing this. So why was he so inclined to go following the faceless shadow into the dark not-so-unknown of his wardrobe. 

Because it was exhilarating. Simple as that.

With a stupid and goofy smile on his face, John dropped to the floor to stick his arm under his bed, digging around till his fingers wrapped around the flashlight his father had given him when they’d gone camping. He was nine. They both hated the entire thing and settled in a motel halfway through their first night in the woods after they’d unknowingly set up camp in a field of stinging nettles. He yanked it out triumphantly and slapped it against his palm after flicking the power switch, shaking the connections and the batteries back to life. Light bloomed and blinded him momentarily, leaving behind spots as he blinked and turned back to the closet. Hopping back to his feet, but remaining in a crouch, he eased towards the closet, shuffling as if hunting wild game. 

He reached up and gripped the handle before throwing the door wide and turning the flashlight around to shine it into the dark. Light lanced through and caught the shadow, making it leap and slam around the small space till it flew out the top and streaked across his ceiling again like a bat out of hell. John laughed out loud and sang triumphantly just as a deep, baritone voice cut through from his window. 

“There you are. I’ve been looking for you everywhere.” 

As if the night could get no stranger, there was now an identically tall and gangly young man in his window, one hand holding the top of the sill, the other on the side. His feet were tucked into both corners and he looked, for all intents and purposes, like a spider with his limbs all bent and a wicked sly smile on his lips. He had eyes a lighter blue than John had ever seen, a halo of dark black hair, and a swath of black and blue clothes that looked more like pieces of fabric all naively stitched together, but covering his form. He was slim though muscled enough, just a touch on the sallow side as if being hungry were a second thought to being mischievous. He was frightfully handsome and all at once so very foreign and familiar that John could do nothing but stare.

The stranger paid him absolutely no mind.

Dropping soundlessly from the ledge, the tall boy looked up to the ceiling, watching as the shadow held onto the dark cast of the fan blades, swinging around like a carnival ride. The shadow seemed as impish as the assumed shadow-caster and refused his order to come down as belligerently as ones younger sibling would. In fact, John was struck, indeed, with the impression he got when Harry was being uncooperative. Except now John was seeing it from the outside, and despite how unbelievable the whole situation was, it was ultimately completely hilarious.

He couldn’t contain the stunned laughter that passed his parted lips as he watched the shadow stick out its tongue and dart away when the boy snatched at it. “Oh, bloody hell.” The boy stamped his foot just as the shadow did and John knew it was the impetuous foot-stamp of a boy who always got his way. “And you,” The raven haired youth rounded on John now. “You are absolutely no help, standing there with that thick expression on your face. If you aren’t going to assist me then you might as well leave.” 

John let out another laugh, eyes wide. “Excuse you!” He was too in shock to really be offended. It was clear the boy was spoiled; this was just in his nature. John wondered if he even knew any better. “You and your shadow have invaded my room. If anyone is to leave, it is you!” He didn’t want him to leave, though. He knew that as soon as the words came out of his mouth. He wanted him to stay. He wanted this interesting and exciting young person to stay and be his friend. 

The boy huffed again and only barely refrained from stamping his foot another time before turning back to his flying shadow. John counted it as a success for himself though he didn’t say as much. Instead he watched the shadow fly around and continued to half-attempt to stifle the laughter that was making the other boy so disgruntled. He would have continued to laugh, too, if the other hadn’t just leaped into the air and flew up towards his shadow as smoothly and without fuss as his shadow had done earlier. John could safely say he was finally well and truly stunned.

The boy flew at the shadow and would push off the walls to get more momentum when it crashed this way and that, shooting from one wall to the next. “The window!” The boy yelled and John was snapped out of his shock and into action, not even thinking before he ran and threw the thing shut, tumbling back as the shadow slammed against it, thwarted in his attempt at escape yet again. It fell to the floor too, flat on his woven rug, and the mysterious boy leaped onto it, pinning it down and trying to grab for its feet. It yanked, trying to stretch and get under the bed but with a grunt the dark haired boy pulled it back out and held that massless ankle tight. “Gotcha!” He grinned big and looked to John who gave him a holler of support, though he wasn’t sure why. 

The other boy was grinning big, his cheeks pink with the exertion of the chase and John felt his own face flush at the sudden attention. “Uh, how, uh,” He stammered and the boy smirked, lifting a brow in a mocking manner that made John more embarrassed. “How do you plan to keep hold of it?” He rushed through, crawling over to the boy and sitting cross-legged next to him. He was amused to see that the kid clearly had no idea and he wondered if this was a common thing for him, to go chasing his shadow into random strangers rooms, only to lose him the next day again. The shadow seemed to have admitted defeat and was splashed against the side of his bed, arms crossed and a frown on his in-profile face. John laughed and shook his head. “Oh, sheesh, okay, hold on.” The boy looked up, not having heard much of what he’d said though he seemed interested when John went to scrounge around in his closet. “What’s your name, anyways?”

“Me?” 

“No, your shadow. Yes, you.” John said in exasperation. 

“Oh. Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes.” He sounded so proud and John felt almost guilty when he emerged from the closet, box in hand, and was unable to stop the snort from escaping his nose. “What?” He asked, affronted.

“Nothing. It’s just such a silly name.”

“It is not silly! I picked it myself.” 

“It’s silly. Now hush, I want to see if this will work.”

He’d pulled out a needle and thread and crawled over to where Sherlock was sitting. “Give me your foot, Sherlock.” John said with a smile and the boy stuck it out and right in his face, a petulant frown on his face.

“It isn’t silly.” He grumbled.

“Whatever.” John was surprised, though he really shouldn’t be, that Sherlock’s feet were filthy. They were covered not just with dirt and grass stains, but also with soot and clay dust, as if he’d been scaling rooftops all night. John wouldn’t be surprised if that was exactly what he’d been doing. He tutted and gave him a reproving look before setting the foot in his lap and reaching for the shadow. It struggled some, but John held a firm, albeit strange, grip on the shadow’s ankle before stitching it to Sherlock’s foot. He let it go when he was satisfied with the binding then went about repeating the process with the other. When he was done he put the needle and thread aside and stood, brushing off his knees. “Alright, give it a test.”

Sherlock stood up a bit wobbly, as if having a shadow at all was a completely new concept to him, but when he lifted his feet in an experimental gesture, the shadow cast against the wall followed suit exactly as normal shadows should. Sherlock lifted the other to try as well before leaping into the air and flying about in a loop-de-loop, his shadow following him all the while. John grinned as he watched the boy, the boy with the silly name. 

When Sherlock had had his fun he settled back down, perched weightless atop the brass piping on his bedframe. He was grinning his Cheshire grin and looking to John as if he’d just caught himself a new mouse to play with. “What’s your name?” He asked, though there was no real curiosity there, just the sense that he knew something John did not. It made his insides uneasily and for the first time, just a touch uncomfortable. Shifting from foot to foot He worked up the courage with a puffed up chest and let out both his name and the air in one fell swoop. “John Watson.” He said with a decisive nod, as if that was the end of a long argument. 

“Now THAT is a silly name.” The boy giggled and did a small flip in the air, legs and arms stretching long as if he knew nothing but flight, born in the clouds, weightless and wingless. “Such a boring, adult name. John. Jonathan. What’s your middle name?” 

John was flushing some, crossing his arms tight over his chest. “Just John. Not Jonathan. And its Hamish.” He mumbled, looking to the window and wondering if he should just throw the stranger out, handsome looks and all. The boy let out a laugh, making John narrow his eyes and really consider that idea.

“John HAMISH Watson? And you think my name is silly?” Another flip and tumble and laugh and then he was floating before John, upside down though looking all the more relaxed with his arms and legs crossed. John could see just the gentlest of points to his ears, elfin and exotic and so very, very strange. He had pouty lips, John could see now that he was so close up, and the eyes not of the ocean as he’d first thought, but of clouds. Soft blue and wispy, light and hidden. His jaw was square, though still soft with boyish adolescence, clearly not yet an adult, though he wasn’t quite sure of his age. “DULL.” He barked with another wicked grin, his mocking voice bordering on the cruel, like kids in a play yard.

“What’s so wrong with having an adult name?” He demanded finally and barely stopped himself from stomping his own foot. The clouds drifted back through Sherlock’s eyes, darker now, though only momentarily.

“Everything. One should do everything in their power to avoid growing up. It is the worst curse fate could ever strike upon a child.” He flipped back right-side up and moved to poked around at the trinkets on John’s desk. John, no longer offended, merely seemed… confused. Such a change was seen in the boy, that John wanted to erase it, erase anything bad that had happened to this friend he’d only known for less than an hour.

Just as soon as the clouds had settled, they’d then rolled out, leaving Sherlock to spin on his heel with a grin on his face. He had an idea and John could see he was helpless but to follow. “I want to take you somewhere, John. Somewhere where you won’t ever have to grow up!” He smiled big and John knew he should be concerned, should be worried but instead he smiled right along with him, willing to trust this boy who promised him adventure, willing to follow him blindly with no more proof that he wasn’t going to just lead him to his death. “Will you come with me?” He held out his hand, his arm long, all decisions left to that one intimate gesture.

John took his hand without a second thought.

“Excellent!” He beamed and yanked John to the window, throwing it open and looking ready to leap right out. John, despite the euphoric sense of bravery and courage swelling in his chest, skidded to a stop, gripping Sherlock’s hand tighter and pulling him back too. He wanted excitement, but he wasn’t suicidal. Sherlock might be able to fly but last he checked, he could not. 

“No way! I can’t just jump out of the window!” He sounded upset. He was scared Sherlock would just drop him and leave him, his temperament already so clearly changeable. 

“Jumping?” Sherlock studied him a moment before the pieces clicked into place and he pipped up. “Oh! Of course, how silly. You won’t be jumping at all! You’ll be flying, just like me!” He floated up in the air, still hand in hand with John, demonstrating just what he expected from his new friend. John feverishly shook his head. He didn’t _know_ how to fly. Sherlock hummed in thought before moving to the window (with much less gusto this time, John was thankful to observe) and threw it open, sticking his head out far and looking around. “Mimi!” He called, looking all around. “Where are you? Miiiiiiimiiiiii-Oh! There you are.” He laughed as what looked like a small ball of light bopped him in the face, making him tumble back inside and away from the thing.

As it moved, and he surely didn’t know HOW it moved for it seemed to just zip and zing all over the place, he could hear the distinct sound of bells emanating from the little thing. Sherlock was talking to it, tugging John around by the hand all the while, as if he were a display that Sherlock were explaining to an audience. Really, though, it looked as if Sherlock were arguing with this ball of light, talking so fast that John missed half the conversation. It wasn’t until the ball of light flew up right into his face that John realized it wasn’t an _it_ at all. It was a HE. And HE looked very unhappy.

Soft all around, with thin copper hair, the little lit up fairy before him looked none too pleased to see him. It was talking at him rapidly, though John, cross-eyed from its close proximity, could only hear the jingling bells. It was glowing a faint yellow orange and its eyes were sharp, hands on its rounded hips. “Uhm…” John looked to Sherlock, hand holding the others a bit tighter. “This is Mimi?”

Sherlock nodded his head vigorously, his curls bouncing waywardly up and down as well. “Indeed! Mimi is what I call him but he hates it. His name is Mycroft. He’s my fairy. And don’t mind his attitude. He doesn’t like anyone.” He rolled his eyes and Mycroft turned back to him now, furious and angrily tink-tinking his bell sounds over to him. “Oh come on Mimi, just do it. Please? For me?” Sherlock made these deep puppy eyes and John could see the little fairy heave a heavy sigh of annoyance, though clearly also of agreement. Sherlock beamed his starlight smile before turning as Mycroft zipped back into John’s face.

He gave John a big glare that made him sheepish and apologetic though he wasn’t sure what he wanted to apologize for. Sorry for putting you out? For having my window open? For encouraging him? (Okay, maybe that one had some truth to it.) He wasn’t sure what to say. Instead, Mycroft just rolled his eyes and pulled out a tiny fairy sized umbrella. John frowned in confusion when the point was directed at him but when the shell erupted as Mycroft opened the spring contraption, John didn’t have much time to be concerned at all. The pop of the umbrella sent a gust of fairy dust into his face, making him breathe it in and swirl it all around him as he stepped back, shaking his head. “What was that?!” He asked in alarm now, blinking his eyes rapidly to clear them. When he could focus again, Sherlock was right up in his face, eye level, looking on expectantly.

The intensity of his stare made his heart go thump-thump.

“Well…? Try it out!” 

John looked down at himself; nothing looked different. “Try what out?”

“Try flying, you dolt.” He said it with such fondness that John was surprised to find he smiled in return.

“How? Do I just… jump?” He tried but to no avail. He just landed with a thump to the ground and he wondered why none of his family had come up demanding what was making so much noise.

“No. It’s more than that. You have to…” Sherlock’s face screwed up as he thought of how best to explain this. “Happy! That it’s, yes, you have to think of things that make you happy. Like pirates, and mermaids, and mysteries! And pudding! Christmas lights! And presents!” He seemed to be getting more and more excited as he thought about all the things that made him happy and indeed, his feet were lifting off the ground, John the only anchor now. 

He settled back down as easy as he’d gone up and urged John now. “You try. Just think of things that make you happy.” John gave him a determined nod and closed his eyes tight, concentrating. Dogs made him happy. Pancakes for dinner. Mum not drinking. Good grades. Rainy days… “Nope, not good enough. Really, _really_ think.” Sherlock’s voice invaded his mind and while he kept his eyes closed he tried again, harder. Summer made him happy. Trips to the beach when they could afford it. Ice cream truck jingles, and free samples at the grocers. His feet were still planted firmly on the ground, though, and he was growing impatient. Sherlock, sensing this, gave his hand an encouraging squeeze and smiled. John couldn’t see it but he still somehow knew that grin was there. 

John felt the heat of Sherlock’s palm against his own and his heels lifted off the floor. He felt Sherlock’s thumb run over the back of his hand and he was weightless now. He peeked open an eye, looking down and then gasping in wonder as he was now a few feet in the air, drifting up, Sherlock flying with him. He laughed in disbelief and looked up to catch Sherlock’s smile. He was flying!

“Do you like adventure?” He asked and the window flew open, a breeze blowing madly through. John nodded his head. “Danger and excitement?!” Another more vigorous head nod. “Do you trust me, John Watson?” He smiled softer, drifting back towards the window, fairy, shadow, and all. John slowly grinned, confidence now in his voice.

“Yes, Sherlock. I trust you.”

Sherlock beamed and John returned it just as bright, hands still clasped, heart beating fast. “Then it’s off to Neverland!” With a last laugh they flew right out of John’s window, blowing aside the curtains and sailing into the velvet blew blanket of stars and adventures before them.


End file.
